


The Drilling Rig, Part 5

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair starts to settle into his job, and meets Jim in the shower room.  That man is EVERYWHERE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drilling Rig, Part 5

## The Drilling Rig, Part 5

by Scribe

Author's website:  <http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles>

Standard disclaimers pertaining to ownership of the characters. This story is not meant to reflect on the actors who portrayed the characters.

This first appeared in My Mongoose Ezine. Thanks to Elaine for the beta.

* * *

Part Five: Awareness 

Blair scarfed the muffin in hasty bites while he helped Luke clean up. Luke protested that he could, indeed _should_ do it alone, but Blair didn't listen. He personally _hated_ doing dishes, and felt a little guilty about leaving such work to someone else. 

Simon came in while they were finishing up, and frowned at him. "Sandburg, you're doing Luke's job. Son, I can appreciate that you're eager to not seem overbearing, but you have to learn to delegate some work, or you'll exhaust yourself. I would have burned out a long time ago if I hadn't learned to trust my staff to do what they were paid to do. Sit down and work out what you're going to make for your midnight meal. I'll need to have at least a week's worth of menus from you by tomorrow so I can check for duplication. You have no idea how pissed a group of people can be if they get served baked beans too many times in a row." 

"Or how _stinky_ they can get," confided Luke, which made Blair laugh. "But when they're pumping on the floor, they don't notice it much with the oil and gas smells." 

Blair had to sit down and hold his sides. He wiped his streaming eyes as he picked up a pencil and dragged a pad of paper toward him. "Dif-different kinda natural gas, huh?" That even got a grin out of Simon. 

Simon sat with a cup of coffee, watching Blair as he moved around, studying the supplies he had to work with, making notes. The boy knew how to go about _that_ in the right way. He'd heard that this was a college boy. Looked like he was putting his organizational skills to use, which was more than a lot of diplomaed boys Simon had met were capable of. "I heard you had kind of a tight squeak through this morning. Almost finished before the men did." 

Blair grimaced. "I underestimated." 

"You can't _do_ that, Sandburg. Listen close to what I'm tellin' you. We do _not_ send anyone out of here with a less than full belly. Always make more than you think you need, because very little goes to waste around here. What someone doesn't steal for snacks can usually be used some other way. Left over roast in a stew, stale cake in a pudding. Though I gotta tell ya, that last item is as rare as hen's teeth. There's almost _never_ any left over cakes or cookies since we got Rafe as a baker. He'll be in a little later to set his bread and mix up the rolls." 

"Looking forward to meeting him. That was a luscious looking pastry of his I almost had, and the bran muffin restored some of my belief in health food." 

"It shouldn't have." Rafe entered. "If you saw how much sugar and butter I used in them, your arteries would start to clog on general principles." He was an almost ridiculously handsome dark haired man, a few years older than Blair. Rather than the usual jeans and Tshirt, he was wearing neat dark trousers and a carefully ironed white shirt, sleeves rolled up to show strong forearms. 

_Nice. But still not what I want._ "I guess I should have known that, but we just keep on hoping that someday there will be something healthy that actually _does_ taste like the real thing." "Dreams are nice. You just let me know if you want anything particular for any of your menus. I wouldn't mind a bit of a challenge, now and then. It gets a little boring cranking out the same cakes and cookies, day in, day out." 

"Yeah, but be careful," Simon cautioned. "These guys are like kids about that. People always think kids want to experience new things. They're wrong, I know from raising my own. Kids can't _help_ but experience new things, 'cause they're meeting the world head on for the first time. What they _really_ want is something familiar. I'm not saying you can't have a flight of fancy every now and then, but don't try to use my galley and my mess as a food lab." 

Simon had a shelf of cookbooks, and Blair consulted them for ideas. If there was one thing he knew, it was research. He learned from Luke that there was even a computer in the rec area that had a wireless Internet hook-up. If he could ever find it free from roughnecks cruising the porn sites, or playing fantasy sports, he was sure he could search out a lot of possibilities. 

He was making notes as Simon worked eggs and breadcrumbs into a massive amount of ground beef, getting up to his elbows in the greasy pink meat. "Yo, Mister Banks..." 

"Simon, Blair. You're second in charge here, so there's no reason you can't call me by my first name." 

Blair decided not to tell him how very much he _didn't_ like the idea of being in charge of anything. "I'm guessing that for my midnight meal I'll need two entrees: a meat and either a chicken or seafood, right?" 

"That's right. You really haven't had much training in this, have you, son?" 

"No, sir," he admitted. "But I'm trying real hard." 

"Yes, you are. And you're doing better on instinct and common sense than a lot of ones I've had that went to school for it. That's right, meat and alternative. You'll also need two or three vegetables, with at least one of them a green, so they don't get rickets, or beriberi, or something, and at least one starch. We go through so much rice, potatoes, dried beans, and pasta on this platform it's downright scary." 

"A drilling platform has to be the carb capital of the world," commented Rafe. He had been kneading dough like a madman. The bread was kneaded in a large commercial mixer, with a pastry hook, but he preferred to give his rolls and biscuits the 'personal touch'. 

*All that flour he sifted flying around, and he doesn't have a smudge anywhere. Is the man simonized, or what?* 

Blair didn't feel up to anything too complicated his first night, so he settled on baked chicken and stuffing, and pepper beef over rice for his entrees. The vegetables were not a problem, since all he had to do was dump the cans in a pot, season them, and let them heat. 

Simon nodded his approval of the menu. "I like the idea of the green peppers. Looks like you're gonna sneak some vitamins in on these turkeys without them realizing it. You might have noticed we don't carry a lot of salad stuff. I just can't get the men to eat it, and it hurts me to put good food down the grinder." 

Blair made sure he had plenty of beef and chicken out of the freezer and thawing in the refrigerator. It was only about ten. He figured he had time for a leisurely shower, then he could safely sleep till six or seven and grab something to eat before beginning the midnight supper. 

"Luke, how do we do this bathing thing on the platform? Do we have fresh, or am I gonna have to use sea water? Because I _really_ don't want to do that to my hair if I can help it." 

"Oh, no, nothing like that. We have plenty of water for cooking, cleaning and drinking. The ship pumped in a fresh load before it left yesterday. Just go on down to the showers and do what ya gotta do," he explained. 

"Terrific. What's the policy on travel? I mean, is there a locker room to change in, or do I go back and forth in a robe?" 

Luke scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I guess that depends on how modest you are. Sure won't nobody mind if you want to show up with just the robe, so you can step into a stall before you take it off, an' don't have to dress and undress in public. However, I gotta warn ya, there's been robe snatching known to happen, 'specially with the new guys." 

"Great. Locker room it is." 

"You'll find the towels an' soap an' hair stuff there." 

"Thanks. Brought my own." 

"Oh. Okay, but be sure to take 'em back and forth with you if you don't want 'em to get used up. Some guys aren't too swift about asking permission." 

"After what that stuff cost me? _They'd_ be swimming home." Blair had bought his soap, shampoo, and conditioner at a special salon store. They had no artificial ingredients, no coloring, and only natural herbal scents. 

He went back to his room and gathered his supplies, getting fresh clothes while he was at it. He sniffed a lock of his hair as he walked to the showers. *Mph. That bacon smell do linger about one.* 

He arrived at a good time, there was only one crew member showering, and another just lacing up his boots. The night crew had apparently done their ablutions, and moved on to bed or recreation. When the other crewman left, Blair stripped quickly, dumping his clothes in a locker, and wrapping a towel around his waist. Then he padded over to the shower stalls with his supplies. 

He eyed the showers without great enthusiasm. Privacy stalls, they'd said. Well, there was precious little privacy with these babies. They were partial, only coming up to... Well, for Blair it was up around his shoulders. For a tall man, it would be more about, say, nipple height. You had a clear view of the upper portion of anyone showering. And he was getting a clear view right now of a very _nice_ set of bare male shoulders. 

_Oh-kay._ Blair looked down at his crotch briefly, and had a quick conversation with his genitals. *Look, guys, I know you're lonely, but no waving, okay? Don't embarrass me, or you two at the bottom may end up trying to crawl back inside. The North Sea is awful cold this year, and he may send us for a sea water bath if ya get too... mmm... outgoing. Just behave, and. when we get back to the room, we'll have a party with that nice magazine I got onshore. You know, the one with the 'cop' in it?* 

He shouldn't have said that. 'Little Blair' (or, as he liked to think of it, 'Not-So-Little Blair' expressed interest. 

Blair, unsure of what protocol was in a situation like this, went into the stall next to the other man, figuring it was better not too look _too_ skittish. He turned the taps on, getting a nice, hot spray, and stepped under the water, groaning with relief. 

"Sore?" 

*Shit. Ellison. Damn, that man is everywhere* "Yeah. I had no idea that being a cook could include so much grunt work." 

"It's _all_ grunt work out here, unless you're the company man. Even then, it has it's moments." 

Blair had taken a wash cloth from a shelf in the open area, and he quickly began to work the bar of soap in it. Looked like he wouldn't be able to enjoy a leisurely shower after all. With Hot Stuff in the next stall, he couldn't risk it, or else he'd end up having to switch over to cold water. 

He was scrubbing industriously when he noticed that Ellison... Well, yeah, he _shouldn't_ have been paying enough attention to notice, but he _did_. Ellison didn't seem to be scrubbing as much as he was _scratching_. And he had a miserable look on his face. Unable to resist, Blair dared a quick peek over the edge of the barrier. 

" _Jesus_ , man!" The buff torso and brawny arms were streaked with angry looking pink welts from his nails. " _Stop_ that! Are you trying to skin yourself?" 

Jim stopped, but his fingers twitched in an obvious desire to continue. "I can't help it. I think this soap irritates my skin." 

"Here, try this." Blair passed the bar over to him. "That's all natural, and it has aloe in it. Good for itch." Jim lathered up, and started to smooth it over his body. Immediately the tense, miserable look fled, replaced by almost dreamy pleasure. *Mm. He looks good like that.* Quick look at his own crotch. *No! Down! He doesn't play, remember?* 

"This is fantastic. Can I buy it from you?" 

"No, but you can have it. I brought two, and I won't use mine up before I get some time off." 

"Okay. Don't mind if I do." 

Blair wet his hair and prepared to wash it, then hesitated. "Hey, man, do you have problems, too, with the industrial goop they give you for your hair?" 

"Do I? It's worse than the soap. I've been washing my hair with bar soap to avoid it." 

"Shit! You can't do _that_! Here, hold out your hand." Jim did, and Blair squirted a dab of shampoo into his palm. "Try that." Jim worked the soap into his scalp, and almost purred with pleasure. "Nice, huh? I have conditioner when you need it. Just let me know whenever you're gonna do the clean thing, and I'll fix you up." 

" _This_ I gotta pay you for." 

"Nah. It's not like you'll be using all that much, the little bit of fur you have." 

"How kind of you to notice." His tone was dry. 

"No, it looks good on you. You're not the long and flowing type. And I dig the high forehead." 

"You're the master of the backhanded compliment, Sandburg." 

"Don't take it wrong, man. You look great." 

"Um. Thanks." 

Blair washed his hair quickly, deciding he could go without conditioner this time. This kind wasn't supposed to build up on the hair, but you never knew. When he emerged from the shower, still slightly damp despite a toweling, Ellison was almost dressed. Blair had a towel wrapped around his waist, riding low on his hips. Jim seemed to be fascinated by the line of hair that ran from his belly button under the towel, where it eventually merged with his pubic hair. 

Blair regarded him as he toweled his hair. Ellison was starting to get that blank look on his face again, the same one he'd had in Blair's cabin. "Ellison?" he said quietly. No response. Blair went to him slowly, and touched his arm. "Jim? Can you hear me?" A slow blink was his only response. "You've gone somewhere, haven't you? Come back, man. Listen to me, and follow my voice back." 

He didn't know why he did it. The situation was a little creepy, and his first instinct had been to just grab his stuff and run to his room, risking a towel snatching along the way. But... The big guy seemed so... helpless. Blair kept talking to him softly. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, he was working on instinct. 

It seemed to work. Slowly the pupils that had become dilated focused again. Ellison shook his head, dazed but once again in the real world. Blair pushed him gently down on a bench, sitting beside him. "What _was_ that?" 

"I don't know." His voice sounded lost. "It hasn't been that bad before. It's getting worse." 

"Are you, like, epileptic, or something?" Blair had a feeling that there was probably some sort of policy about hiring epileptics on a job like this. If they were pissing in their pants over a cook having steel toed boots for the insurance's sake, they probably wouldn't want anyone on hazardous duty who might drop off the edge of reality unexpectedly. 

Jim shook his head wearily. "No, I've been tested." His eyes rolled toward the ceiling briefly. "God, have I been tested. They just don't _know_." He looked at Blair anxiously. "Look, don't tell anybody about this, will you? I can keep it under control. It doesn't happen when I work. It's more when it's quiet, and I concentrate too hard on something." 

Blair frowned. "I don't know. If you're sick..." 

"I'm not _sick_. I... just get lost sometimes, and need someone to pull me back a little. I'm okay, really." 

"Well... If it gets any worse, you gotta _promise_ me to do something about it, 'kay?" 

"Yeah, sure." 

"And if you need any help, I'm here, right? I mean, I've brought you out of it twice, haven't I?" 

"You've _caused_ it twice." 

Blair sat back. "Not my fault." 

"No, it isn't." There was a gym bag on the bench. Jim pulled out a small, but powerful looking blow drier. "Wanna borrow this? I don't know why I bothered to bring it with my little pelt. I can almost wipe it dry." 

"Hey, thanks! This mess takes ages to dry on it's own." Blair plugged the drier in an outlet by one of the sinks and went to work. His hair dried quickly with the heated air. He finished it off by bending over, letting his hair fall in a cascade before him, and playing the hot stream over the back and along the neckline. Finally, he clicked off the machine and stood up, tossing his head so that the hair flew back in a shining wave to spill halfway down his back. 

Ellison wasn't zoning, but he was staring again. Blair handed him the drier. "Thanks." He dressed quickly, turning his back to Ellison till he got his pants on. "See ya in the mess at midnight, I guess." he said, heading for the door. 

"Yeah." 

* * *

End The Drilling Rig, Part 5 by Scribe: poet77665@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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